


At The End Of The Multiverse

by An_Oni_Mouse



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Doodle Sphere, End of the World, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headcanon, Multiverse, My First Fanfic, Mystery, No Smut, Platonic Relationships, eventual feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Oni_Mouse/pseuds/An_Oni_Mouse
Summary: Fandoms come and go. Many die and others don't, at least... for now. But what happens to those left behind? The characters we loved and created? Well, this is what happened to the residents of a dying multiverse.(Under construction: Unfortunately, the tags that brought you here probably won't be addressed in the story until at least the midpoint, so either you will need to look somewhere else for your angst or you have my gratitude for your patience )
Kudos: 3





	At The End Of The Multiverse

**Author's Note:**

> It begins...
> 
> This is actually my first public fic, so I hope it suites your fancy.  
> If you have any advice or constructive criticism, it would be appreciated.

Thousands of papers hung afloat in a golden glow, warm and rich with life. There were no strings to hold them, just a suspension of disbelief. It seemed as if the space itself was filled with a fantastic air of wonder and loving dedication. It was a beautiful work of fiction, an artist's safe space, and somewhere in the mix nonchalantly drifted its protector.

In a tattered, coffee colored scarf, he sat cross-legged midair, sketching something or other in his notebook. He was focused on the doodle, eyes darting back and forth between each added line, changing patterns with each blink. Across his chest stretched a brown bandoleer housing eight vials of paint, each holding a different hue inside its glass container.

This was Ink.

He went by many names; Guardian of the multiverse, Protector of AUs, as well as some… unflattering titles from his adversaries. He was not bound to a single world, but took it upon himself to watch them all. Every universe, every story made by those distant whispers, otherworldly creators hidden beyond the background, they all laid under his care. Any and all threats to their tales would answer to him. Their storylines were everything, he would let nothing disrupt the creators' visions. Besides, in exchange for their protection, he was granted a gift unrivaled, his own emotional ambrosia of sorts, liquid feelings.

His scarf decided to drift into his face then, so the guardian took a moment to readjust himself. It was covered in tiny hand-written notes, but a few stood out among the others.

_Event in the Omega Timeline on the 15th._

_Make sure everyone knows about the armistice_

_Daily reminder: make your rounds_

Ink let out a sigh. Today was a slow day. Very few creators were active at the moment and most of them were fine handling themselves. Though he contributed to the creative process indirectly, the creators were the ones who truly brought their worlds to life. Honestly, his intervention was one along the lines of an assistant, giving them a clearer view of their own creation or dissuading them from quitting but…

He tried to remember the last time they actually _asked_ for his help…

Eh, he never _was_ known for his memory. It could have been days, weeks, or a few hours since his last call. It's hard to tell when the days blend together, much like the mix of fluid sentiment inside his system. There just hadn't been that much activity in the multiverse lately. So many people were… "busy"…  
Oh well. Hopefully he could fix that soon enough.

He reached for the yellow vial and took a little sip. A-pick-me up of positivity couldn't hurt, right?

Putting the sketchbook away, he tucked his arms under his head, leaned back, and spun himself upside down, viewing the vast collection of pages floating below him. There were so many worlds, each filled with infinite possibilities and potential.

"Welp, time for the usual. Wheeeeeeeere to start…," He paused for a moment before looking towards the massive paintbrush floating to his left, "Any ideas?"

He stared at the object intently as if listening to a reply. As his weapon of choice, the brush doubled as a tool of creation and destruction. Past foes had left their marks on the handle, scratches galore, in addition to the bristled top, a bushy mass of fibers still gripping miniscule remnants of former attacks. Ink often conversed with the wooden broom, almost considering it a companion. Ever since the beginning he had always had it with him.

Righting himself he continued, "Yeah, yeah I know the drill. I can't interfere, but it wouldn’t hurt to view them from the sidelines for a little bit. As a self-proclaimed master of stealth, no one'll know I'm there! Besides, it's kinda my job. Gotta check on 'em pretty often."

His smile faltered for a moment as he stared at the brush again.

"Pfft, _of course_ they still need me. I'll be ready as soon as they call. Just say my name and I'm there!"

He paused again, lost in thought for a moment. When was the last time someone called him… even inside the multiverse…?

_Nope_

"Y'know what?"

He perked up, hoisted the brush over his shoulder, and grinned.

"TODAY WE'RE STARTING SOMEWHERE RANDOM!"

With a snap of his fingers, each piece of paper transformed into a bucket spilling over with paint, each pail cascading into a waterfall of hues. Hovering about, he perused the choices before him. Each bucket's contents were colored specifically to its universe. Some took shades from their own color palates while others were pigmented to fit the tone of the story. Some of the somber AUs sported darker colors along the blue spectrum while happier tales shone bright with warmer hues; yellows, oranges, and pastel shades. Other buckets were filled with very specific patterns such as the gold and violet divide of DreamTale (even if it wasn't really an AU, it still received a bucket), the black and red jagged swirl of UnderFell, the starry night cascading over the brim of OuterTale, and even the flowers on top of the NatureTale bucket's mixture. Each bucket was unique, something Ink couldn't help but admire (in addition to their contents sustaining him).

Shaking his arms out to loosen the tension in his bones, he stretched before putting a hand to his chin. He then began pointing at the nearest buckets, flitting about into bizarre positions as he chanted;

"Multiversal summary  
X marks the spot <== (he pointed to X-Tale)  
Three are on hiatus  
That one just forgot  
Pacifist or genocide  
Attack attack  
Explore True Lab, fight Asriel  
Refuse, outlast  
Toriel, Asgore, Undyne, Sans  
Ruins, Snowdin, Waterfall, Hotland  
A call away's Papyrus, and later Alphys too,  
Napstablook and Mettaton,  
Mad Dummy turns to MewMew  
Pick a timeline, minor change  
The rest are all AUs  
A few are swapped while others fell  
There's stories left to choose  
Horrors, shippers, twists of fate  
Old plotlines turned brand new  
Remixed concept, Aesthetic change  
This one's first--!

Flipping headfirst into the nearest bucket, He let out his ending shriek, " _WHOO HOO_!!!"

His smile only widened as he disappeared into the blend of colors. Suddenly the doodle sphere vanished, churning, flowing, twisting, spilling, rapids of color obscuring his vision. He felt his being dissolve as it changed its state of matter. Ruby, cyan, amber, jade, violet, indigo, coral, a cascade-- of every color imaginable merging and separating in the dreamlike fluid. He mixed with the molten potential between worlds, blending, fusing, swimming, unconfined and immersed in the now. All at once Ink felt in tune with the multiverse, in this semi-viscous state, finding himself as his body disappeared. Until there was a light---

He was still beaming when he broke the surface, his aqueous form shifting back to a solid in an instant. He was flying through the caverns of the Underground, or more accurately, falling with style after arriving through a dripping stalactite. Breathing in the rapid air from his free fall along with the rush of adrenaline, Ink took a split second to admire the view. From his exit he could see the entire game map; the cozy town of Snowdin, the marsh-like caves of waterfall, the blistering heat radiating off of Hotland, and the ominous outline of the Core, barely visible in the haze before the Capital's shadow. Directly below him, a stylized rendition of the ruins grew alarmingly closer.

Twisting himself around, he took his brush and slashed the surface of the ancient castles, creating a new smear of paint, before he disappeared once again. With that the cycle continued. Ink was racing, chasing, abound in constant motion. He leapt from one world to the next, dissolving and mending in succession, his feet nary touching a solid surface. Hues and colors, scene after scene, view after breath taking view, he drank them in _with_ the blur of motion, a kaleidoscope of alternate wonders. Running, flying, falling, defying the laws of physics as he moved, brush in hand, his eyes aglow. In his vision, this was what meant to be alive, to experience the thrill of living despite missing the final piece. This persistent cycle, this familiar feeling, the non-stop freedom of mobility, it was an endless stream of artistic beauty---

Until it stopped.

Ink had been switching worlds at random, having no idea where he would come out next. He took his next stroke, dove into the paint, and ---------

Ink tried to scream.

A sharp pain burned through his entire being. The elixir around him felt like acid tearing him apart. He was on fire, the agony of shriveling away searing through him. The method of travel so second nature had become corrupt, abusing him, torturing him for seemingly no reason. He was choking, suffocating, struggling for release as he spiraled through the abyss. Simultaneously dark and light, he was blinded by the violent sensation, panicking as it ripped away any hopes of escape. The poison was slipping through him, draining away his colors, no, it was like white out, erasing him and leaving nothing in its wake! Ink couldn't think! He couldn't breathe!

_It hurt!_

_It hurt so much!_

**_Everything hurt!_ **

_This was wrong!_

**_WHY?_ **

_Why was this happening?!_

_Help!_

**_Please!_ **

_Someone!_

**_Anyone!_ **

**_HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ **

And as quickly as it came it stopped.

Ink gasped for breath, hyperventilating. He fell to his knees and clung to himself for a moment, desperately trying to process what he'd just experienced and forcing down the ink welling in his throat. He inspected himself, running his fingers over his vials and clutching his limbs and clothes, searching for any aberration. His hands finally trailed to his face, pressing his scarf into his cheek bones as the foul taste subsided. He was still colored in, his paints were still there, this was fine. _Everything was **fine**_. As his breathing died down, he started to laugh. The painful sound emitting from his mouth rang without humor, proclaiming the disturbance of its vocalist to any unfortunate ear.

Thankfully, Ink had none, just two external acoustic meatus and a resilience unlike any other.

"Aheh heh, heh, Wow! (pant) That- uh (pant) that was (pant) unexpected."

He fell backwards and let his hazy sockets drift shut. _He needed a minute_. Lying on his back, keeping his focus trained on the steady rise and fall of his ribcage, the universe seemed to stand still. Then his sockets shot open. Flipping over, he grabbed his scarf and hastily wrote a new note, warning his future self about what he'd just experienced. He didn't know how it happened or how to prevent it, but there was no way he--

It was only for a second, but his eyes left his task and he froze. The manic scribbling came to a stop mid-note as he dropped the pen.

"What the-," his whisper was barely audible.

The entire world was… white, but… it wasn't _blank_. It didn't look like a sketch that needed to be filled in later, and it didn't have the still emptiness of the Antivoid. No, this was… different- no- wrong. There were still the familiar buildings and structures, people and objects, but all of them were… ghostly, almost lifeless as if they were erased somehow. He wanted to look away, yet his eyes were drawn to them. The whole universe was a mass of unfilled outlines and washed out scenes. Even the inhabitants lacked any color, _any_ spark of life as they wandered aimlessly, yet it was their eyes that really bothered Ink. Each monster had a vacant stare, gazing at nothing as they drifted, smiling a haunting grin of a time long past. A few of them were even staring through him.

Startled, he uttered a slight shriek trying to get away, but staggered back, instinctively flustered to get out of sight. There was no point. From behind, one of the monster children ran into him, phasing through without hinderance, repeating some forgotten piece of dialogue on autopilot. Ink was taken aback. He couldn't help but stare.

"Okay then. That happened," silently to himself he added, " _That **shouldn't** have happened_."

Gathering his bearings, Ink started his investigation. He had ended up in Snowdin, no surprise there. It was pretty common for AUs to carry a lot of focus on the town due to the skelebros' residence (as well as about 1/8th or so of the game's plot). Snowdin by nature was supposed to be cold, yet this chill was… harsher. Instead of the wholesome warm hearted atmosphere the town was known for, there was a gnawing feeling of dread creeping through his system. These people weren't alive. This world wasn't supposed to be like this. Every creator had a wildly different form of expression, but this… this just wasn't it. The finished map, the little details in the monsters' outward appearances, a **_full_** set of dialogue on repeat; there had been something else here. Only, it was as if…

"Wait a minute."

Ink took up his brush, thought about which colors he needed, and attempted to paint the wall of a nearby house.

"Uh-!" Ink flinched.

The rabbit in front of the door turned his head towards the paint, staring through Ink, showing a hint of recognition at the color, then turned away.

"Well, that's not disturbing at all."

Ink shuddered before his attention went back to the wall. With a sharp inhale, he watched the color vanish, leaving the white surface to stare back at him once more.

He took a step back, starting to tremble. The pick-me-up from earlier wasn't nearly enough to combat the palate he was feeling now. Fighting down the nausea long enough to think of his next move, Ink pondered his options. He had never seen this happen to a world, yet he knew there _had_ to be a reason, right? Even if it was for aesthetic purposes, this emptiness was unnatural. There had to be another explanation for those spectral monsters, the unfillable outlines, the repeating dialogue, the empty gazes _still **watching** him_. Some outcode couldn't have done this, right? Could they?

He noticed his shaking hands, vibrating with the rest of him. He could have taken another pick-me-up. It was one sip away, but he was too scared to touch it, worried the world would somehow siphon its precious color away too. This place was getting to him. He wanted answers, but maybe… maybe they wouldn't be _here_ necessarily.

"I-I'll… come back."

Ink swiped his brush over the ground, forming a lather of paint, only, the edges started fading as soon as it made contact. He'd have to be quick. Knowing how short the window was for his exit, he jumped though the puddle just as the color all but drained from it. Unbeknownst to Ink, the white smear he left behind smoothed seamlessly into the rest of the world's ground, as if he had never been there in the first place

Relieved, Ink was greeted with the familiar fluid sensation of paint travel. His molecules shifted from a solid to a liquid effortlessly and the colors washed over him, bringing with them a sense of much needed comfort. He always hated blank space, this reprieve, no matter how short his stay had been, was much needed. He wanted it to last longer, to be drawn out for another moment, another second, one more instance in this mesh of creativity. It felt safe, inviting, but just like that, again it ended.

Materializing back in the doodle sphere, Ink pulled the edge of his scarf and finished the incomplete note. That experience while jarring, had been…familiar.

_Too familiar._

He had a vague idea what was wrong with the world, but he hoped it was wrong. After all, how could that have happened? The entire universe was emptied, a hollow shell of its former self: just like him. Pacing midair, muttering to his brush, he went over the new set of questions in his head; what could have done his to a universe? How could it have gotten that bad so quickly? What world had that once been? How did he not notice sooner? Why had no one called him, it was as if---?

An idea struck him as he remembered where he was. Jerking his head around he searched for the damaged world's bucket. Just as he thought, it took less than a minute to find. He grimaced over being right, drifting towards the ruined pail.

Ink inspected the bucket. Even if it seemed unrecognizable, surely there was still some sort of marking to distinguish which world this was, right? He circled the vessel, looking for some sort of scratch, a pattern, anything to identify it, but the shell was devoid of remarkable features. _Any_ features. The pale container wasn't even spilling any paint, the contents stationary inside. The mixture itself was devoid of all color, lifeless.

Finding nothing, he pondered his next move. As its protector, this world had been under his care. How could he have let this happen? There was someone out there who had put a lot of time and effort into bringing it to life. He knew it. Why hadn't _they_ called for help or _anyone_ from their world? Why had it died _in silence_? He had no idea how to save it, or if he could save it, but even if it was too late for one world what did that mean for the others? Were more being affected? Incidents like this were rarely isolated, but if so then how were they slipping under his radar? It was as if…

"No... No. That can't be it." 

Ink looked away, clenching his teeth as a buzz issued from his pocket.

He had a hunch about what was causing this. He just hoped he was wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> 11-24-20: Chapter two is in the works, but I'm looking for beta readers.  
> If anyone has any advice for future chapters or knows where to find interested candidates for critique, please share. 
> 
> Here's hoping your day's going well. : )
> 
> AUs mentioned and their respective owners:  
> -Original Undertale: Toby Fox (and Temmie Chang)  
> -Ink: Comyet  
> -Omega Timeline/Core!Frisk: Dokudoki  
> -DreamTale: JokuBlog  
> -UnderFell: Underfella/ Undertale AU Community  
> -OuterTale: 2mi127  
> -Naturetale: naturetale-official  
> -XTale: Jakei95


End file.
